(I) Gate

-Unclassified sections from the Contract of Control, signed by Lord Scorn the Ruin-Forged and the Lords of Law Over Compact37 (I)

Gate

Of all the things Shiv expected to feel upon passing through the gate, an intense coldness was not one of them. It was also a kind of cold. An unnatural kind of cold. A ceaseless chill emanated from the chained sun in the distance, its grayish glare channeling a constant stream of frost down over the world. That was contrasted with the world underneath as Shiv looked over the edge of the iron-forged bridge he was on. Veins of molten metal circulated through the distant bedrock of its place. The heat below was so intense that Shiv could see an optical mirage forming.

Behind, the spatial mana sustaining the gate went dead, and the way back vanished. Shiv felt the heavy weight of finality tighten its grip inside him. He made his choice. No going back now. Not like back was that great of an option in the end, considering what was happening with the Jealousy.

A rumble sounded ahead as a massive set of stone doors opened to welcome them at the end of the bridge. They were about to enter the base of the pyramid structure he saw earlier, but before that, there were two elemental golems standing guard and a layer of security wards veiling the interior.

Shiv realized they were the same kind of golem he fought in the teleportation anchor almost a week ago—though they seemed just a bit smaller. They weren’t his biggest concern, though. Shiv studied 811 next to him, and he knew the orc was watching him too. The brilliant brute missed nothing. Without easy means of escape or reconnecting with his friends, Shiv needed to operate with greater caution. He could come back from dying, but he didn’t know much about this place at all.

Losing his mask might just end with an entire dimension of enemies coming down on him at once. Shiv was battle-happy and death-hungry, but he had no interest in being broken and caged in mind or body. And if things went wrong, he very much expected someone to shatter his mind and uncover everything about him…

They passed by the golems and sauntered through the wards. As the spells washed through Shiv, he readied himself for sirens or an attack. They never came. His mask was pretty damaged, but it was still functional. Read complete versıon only at NovєlFіre.net

It occurred to him how lucky he was in running into the Umbrals. Nomos might’ve been a bit of an asshole and his first impression of even Uva was how aloof they were, but Weave took to him pretty well. And he took to it well too. It was practically his favorite city in the world at this point.

As the last of their group got inside the building, Shiv found himself standing on what appeared to be a very large elevator. A second later, as the large, metal gears in its corners began to turn, he knew he was right. A tension immediately broke among the mercenaries. Helmets were removed. Curses and sighs escaped lips, and 811 began to chuckle. “Another run complete.”

“Joy,” Shiv said, pouring some of his uncertainty into the word.

The orc bumped him on the shoulder. Then frowned. “Hm. I remember you being easier to nudge.”

“I remember you bothering to—” 811 shoved Shiv again. The Deathless timed a near-sprawl perfectly. “Oh, you godsdamned stupid creature!”

811 laughed again. Shiv caught the heavily armored Umbral walking by, sneering at them. “Well. I’m glad you two are having a laugh. In fact, I hope you keep up that laughing when we get to the guild office, because you’re both done. I’m not having you in my band no more. Never again. What happened today with the attack at the end? That was your fault, 811.”

“I disagree.” The orc smiled politely. “If I may, I would like to defend—”

“Save it,” the Umbral spat. She nodded down at Shiv and spat at his feet. “You can save it too. You’ll be assigned final pay and be released back as freelancers. I need professionals. Not a brute. And certainly not some First Blood fugitive in desperate need of a personality transplant.”

Shiv didn’t know what to say, so he just sneered back as he stood back up, towering over her. She poured a final bit of disgust into her glare and walked away.

“Well. Free at last,” 811 said with a breath. “I must say, we really should avoid these low-risk, quiet assignments. With what you are and what I am, violence is in our nature. Running from it has done us a disservice.”

“Some of us don’t come back if we die,” Shiv said, fully aware of the irony in his statement.

“Ah, but that just increases the thrill, does it not? Imagine how sweet it will taste to finally best and free yourself from the First Blood hunters who seek your heart? Imagine spreading your own rogue bloodline away from the Court and being a power they cannot touch. Death is a simple slip. A dreamless sleep at worst. But life offers a great many prizes to the ones that dare.”

Shiv looked up at the orc. The orc looked down and blinked. “Oh,” 811 said, sighing. “You must truly be tired, Isaiah. You did not tell me to shut up once during that monologue. You are very unlike yourself today.”

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Once again, Shiv reaffirmed his need to kill the orc—and get away from the brute as soon as possible. This cover wasn’t going to last much longer.

Another thing Shiv wasn’t prepared for: How boring the after-action-processing was. After stopping on a certain floor, they handed the “core” they were transporting over to a group of automata who secured, scanned, and slapped a tag of their own on the cart. Through it all, Shiv found himself surprised that the mana tag he was given by the Weaveress didn’t set off any alarms.

Once finished, the automata wheeled the cart around the corner, and the elevator began to move again.

As did Shiv’s journey into purgatory.

The elevator arrived at its destination soon enough, which gave him a false sense of hope about finding a chance to slip away. That was quickly dashed as they were taken through what Shiv could only describe as teleportation customs at Blackedge, but infinitely worse. They were made to pass through over ten rooms for countless scans, interviews, more scans, an interrogation about what happened along the journey, more scans, made to fill out a report about what they thought they did well and what could be improved. Then, just as Shiv found himself released into a lobby, the angry Umbral mercenary that led this outfit threw what were supposed to be his employment papers at his feet and stomped off, telling him he needed to go through an exit interview with the guild now. She also told him to eat shit until his stomach ruptured. Both statements were delivered with the same tone and seriousness.

“I will be honest,” 811 said, sounding dismayed for the first time. “The excrement eating option has some appeal to me right now.”

Shiv looked the orc up and down and shrugged. “It’s just an exit interview. Let’s get this over with.”

There was no “getting it over with.” Shiv had no idea why the needed him to go through more interviews—most of which were frankly just the guild’s administrative staff calling him an idiot over and over again for sponsoring an orc.

This was how Shiv found out the vampire and the orc were truly friends, or something close to it.

Shiv thought, his mind entering a meditative state as the interviewer insinuated he was an idiot once more.

Finally, after just about three hundred contracts and papers signed, Shiv was given a briefcase filled with paper bills that displayed some kind of blind woman holding a blade in one hand and a feather in the other. A few seconds later, 811 emerged as well, letting out a deep groan. “The torture… has ended. We are freed.” He reached down and clapped Shiv on the back. Shiv barely remembered to stumble and glare this time. 811 laughed. “Come. To Little Gomorrah we go. Let me get you a slave. One you might like this time. One of the younger ones with fresher blood.”

Shiv thought with disgust.

They staggered out of the building a moment thereafter. As Shiv looked back, he realized another problem he didn’t anticipate: He couldn’t read Compact script. Language was fine—the System seemed to want people to speak to each other without issue, but the written word remained impenetrable. This made it hard to know where anything was or how to get to this Little Gomorrah when 811 told him to lead the way.

They were walking along a bridge that led to a plaza. There, Shiv could see metal-collared automata and Umbrals working the floor, scrubbing rails, shouting slogans for businesses, offering services. Most of the ignored them, but Shiv struggled to turn away. These were slaves. He could tell that immediately. It was just a jarring sight.

Roland Arrow kept Shiv under watch and loosely contained, but even his shadow only loomed so far. He didn’t force Shiv to do a certain job or live a certain way. He certainly didn’t make Shiv wear chains. Chains that connected him to other slaves. And that was the other thing: They were all bound together in their groups, so they couldn’t move that far from each other—or run away easily without pulling the other slaves along.

Shiv also came to a darker conclusion: This was effective for group punishment. If one escaped, the rest might just face the pain.

“I always liked the concept. Slavery.” 811 hummed happily as he grinned at the slaves. “Not the keeping or owning of people. No. That is pathetic and weak—one should always seize power for themselves. But the psychological warfare waged against these people to break them down and keep self-determined beings docile is a thing of .”

The orc spoke like he was complimenting a painting. Shiv contemplated if he could knock the orc off the bridge into a river of molten metal below.

Shiv listened carefully as he walked, to try and catch what people were saying. If he got lucky, he might just get a clue about where Little Gomorrah was. But his focus soon got him to notice something else. Some few meters away, a humanoid automaton in a suit brought a belt slick with blood down across the face of a child.

The boy was ten, if that. He sprawled across the ground, heaving, sobbing. Around his neck was a collar, and in his hands was a mismatched pair of gloves. Gloves that fit the dimensions of the automaton’s hands.

Shiv was walking toward them before he even realized what he was doing. By the time he caught himself, 811 was watching him, and Shiv cursed. What should he do? Just let it happen? When he could do something about it? When there was probably something he could do?

Before the automaton could bring his belt down again, Shiv caught them by the arm. It took a considerable amount of restraint on his part not to close his hand and crush the bot’s fragile limb, but Shiv had strength in spades, inside and out. The goal was what mattered; he could come back and finish the automaton off later. Frankly, he wanted to slaughter this entire place clean, other than the slaves. And he would. The first chance he got, he would.

“I,” Shiv began, trying to mask his anger as hunger, “am hungry.”

The automaton held a very human guise. Its glass eyes flashed bright and dark in something like a blink, and it tried to pull its hand back. But Shiv didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled out some of his . He didn’t know what a child cost in this place, but he just might be able to pull it off.

“I’ll pay a premium,” Shiv said, adding a bit of a rasp into his voice to sell his hunger more. “Half. For the boy. Fresh blood.”

“You—” The automaton’s voice was somewhere between fear and outrage. 811 was just shaking his head, as if his old friend was up to the usual antics. Then, the automaton noticed the money, and turned to stare at Shiv again. “Half? Of all that? For just… the boy?”

“Yes,” Shiv said, trying to make it seem like a desperate thing rather than him not knowing how much a slave cost. Or even what the currency here was called. “Do we have an arrangement?”

The automaton grabbed the money, and Shiv released its arm. As it counted the bills, it regarded Shiv and let out a pitched laugh. “I… you must be truly desperate, friend. Hungry and desperate. But I understand. We all have A word of advice…” The automaton cast the belt it was beating the child with aside and reached down to take the boy’s chain. “...Get yourself sorted early. And drain this one quick. His mother said he was supposed to learn fast and level quickly. She lied. He couldn’t even pick up the right gloves from the store.”

Shiv could feel how deep the lashes ran on the boy’s back. Far deeper than skin. Deep enough that he was bleeding heavily—and there was in the air getting inside. An infection was going to set in.

Practical Metabiology > 8

Accepting the child’s chain into his hand, Shiv’s restraint nearly snapped when both his Barter and Acting Skills advanced. It was like the System was mocking him.

Barter > 11

Acting > 7